From Russia With Love
by Memory Dragon
Summary: With Martha gone and the rest of the world saved, the Doctor tries to forget about all the death he's left in his wake only to find an old friend waiting for him at the Bolshoi Theatre.


So, this would one of the many things I've written for the best_enemies community on livejournal over the past few weeks. I ended up liking this one a lot, so I figured I'd post it here as well. If you want the slashier version, check out my website. It's only like, a paragraph and a half longer, to be honest.

In case you were wondering, the next chapter of Mouse Trap should be up by Sunday. My beta reader finally finished it and I'm putting final touches on it now. Enjoy this in the mean time?

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From Russia With Love  
By: Memory Dragon  
Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who, nor do I make any claim to. I also don't own the song.  
Characters: Tenth Doctor/Delgado Master  
Warnings: Again, not beta'ed at all. And I finished this pretty late at night, so I suspect there will be more than a few typos... Also, it epically fails at a drabble, being over 2,100 words. -_-;;; The angst made me do it... I suppose there are a few spoilers for The Dark Path, but nothing major. Not really slash in this version, but can be seen that way, I suppose.  
Notes: Written for the best_enemies drabble prompt, "Russia and/or America" using the former prompt. Why? Cause my Russian ballet teachers were my second parents growing up and I'm a sucker for the old James Bond song. Also, it uses the backstory from the DW novel, The Dark Path. What can I say, I _liked_ that one. You don't have to have read it to understand though.

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The Doctor hadn't really been thinking when he decided to go to the ballet. It'd just been one of those things he did to forget about the death he'd caused and not think about the lives he ruined. He was tempted to just put the TARDIS on random and see where she took him, but part of him wanted to make sure she was okay after the Master's tinkering with her. Hadn't had the chance to test her, really, since meeting his former self and crashing into the Titanic. So he set the controls to Moscow, Russia, not really setting a specific date but landing him sometime after the Soviet Union had dissolved. Still sometime new, someplace exciting and he hadn't been to Moscow in centuries.

When he heard that they were playing Swan Lake at the Bolshoi Theatre, well... He couldn't exactly not go, right? He turned to Martha, to explain how Swan Lake premiered there and how he'd cheered Tchaikovsky up the night after and no, not the way you're thinking so get your mind out of the gutter, Miss Jones. Then he remembered Martha was gone.

Right, Swan Lake. Brilliant, it was. Far too long since the last time he'd seen it and there was no better place in the universe to catch a showing of it. Allons-y!

The performance was top notch. Really, it was brilliant and he wasn't just saying that. The Bolshoi Ballet proved that it was definitely worthy of being a world famous ballet company. The pas de deux was gorgeous, the music superb, and the dancing in general was flawless and moving. He was so caught up in the story, that the Doctor had almost completely forgotten the ending had been changed to where Odette kills herself.

When the ballet had finished, the Doctor found he had tears flowing down his cheeks. Too many people had died recently. Astrid and the Master... Oh, Master... Why hadn't the idiot regenerated instead of dying in his arms?

"Doctor? It is you, isn't it? And the name you've taken up calling yourself now, if I remember correctly..." a familiar voice asked from the row in front of him. Quickly, the Doctor wiped away the tears and put on a silly grin to mask his grief. Who did he know in this time period? Stalin was dead, so he wasn't in trouble any more. Besides, that hadn't technically been his fault and-

"Master?" he gasped, shocked beyond all measure at the ghost of a man in front of him. Only, it wasn't the Master who had just died in his arms not too long ago. Rassilon, this was... As beautiful as the theatre around him was, suddenly there was nothing in the universe but the Doctor and the man in front of him. The smile slipped from his face.

The Master frowned lightly, his beard only just starting to show bits of grey and was barely noticeable in the dimmed light of the theatre. He crossed his arms over his chest and regarded the Doctor with a worried expression. "'Master?' Are you quite alright, Doctor? You look as though you've seen a ghost."

He was unable to speak, just staring at this first version of his best enemy. Not the Master's first regeneration certainly, but the first one that had called himself the Master and started down the path of destruction. Compact body, lightly greying beard, tailored suits and all the gentlemanly finesse and polite charisma that had been so unique to this regeneration of the Master. He felt the hand on his arm rather than saw it, looking up into the concern of the Master's eyes. "My dear Doctor, it's me, Koschei. Don't tell me you've forgotten me?"

Koschei. _Koschei_. This was before he'd turned into the Master, before Darkheart and the betrayals and the death. If he could talk to Koschei now, warn him, tell him the truth, the Master wouldn't have let himself die, right? He wouldn't become the Master, even, he'd still be the Doctor's best friend, not enemy... It was tempting, so very tempting, and the Doctor felt how very easy it would be to change the course of history now.

Trembling lightly, the Doctor didn't say any of that. Instead he smiled again, trying to regain his composure. He wasn't yet to the point of breaking such laws and they held him fast like chains over his hearts. "Of course, Koschei! Look at you! All beardy and smelling of cigars and the suit... Good choice, by the way. This is brilliant. Really, brilliant. You don't know how brilliant, especially seeing you here in Russia of all places. That's how we found your name, remember? All that researching into primitive cultures and there was that old folk lore story about a man who was impossible to kill. You always had a thing for immortality." Ignoring the disapproving looks of the ushers, the Doctor jumped down the row of chairs and hugged the Master tightly. Perhaps just a bit too tightly. "How long has it been since I've seen you? Centuries? Well, I'm older now. Won't run away from you this time."

If the Master... If _Koschei_ was surprised by the sudden nearly tackle hug, he didn't show it. He did awkwardly pat the Doctor on the back before coughing politely to warn the Doctor that the hug was just a little too tight and a little too long. The Doctor jumped back sheepishly. "I see you haven't given up your tendency to babble," the Master said with a long suffering sigh.

Rocking back on his heels, the Doctor stuck his hands in his pockets and grinned. Despite all the sorrow and the hurt and the _grief_ the Doctor felt, seeing the Master... Seeing _this_ Master, out of all of them, it made his hearts twist in a way he had to swallow heavily to cover. Focus on the good bits, because the Master (it was so hard to think of him as Koschei anymore, not when it'd been so many long centuries since he'd spoken that name) was regarding him thoughtfully and he couldn't be allowed to know what happened. He really hadn't been more glad to see his dear friend. "Yup," he said, drawing the word out with a smile. "That's me. Never know when to shut up, hey? I reckon you'd put up with me regardless though."

"Even though you've run away from Gallifrey without me?" The Master said, arching an eyebrow coolly.

The Doctor winced, remembering all too well why he'd done that. It'd been a bit of a challenge, after all, to see who could get off the planet first, and the Master had gotten himself embarrassingly caught and placed under house arrest for a decade. Which the Doctor had absolutely no part of in an attempt to gain his freedom first, most definitely not. Well, maybe a little. Well, maybe a lot, but oh, it had been worth it to get the pictures of Koschei cursing everyone at the tribunal. "Look, I'm sorry about that, really I am, but..."

The Master waved him off with a knowing smile. "I've managed on my own, as you see. I decided to try out this habit of yours of picking up lower life forms and taking them around the universe. It's been most... intriguing so far." The Master paused, clasping his hands behind his back as he noted that the Doctor was alone. "Ailla, my current companion, is very brilliant scientifically, but she said she had no desire to see a ballet tonight. She doesn't quite appreciate the fine arts as she should. I assume your companions were the same?"

At this, the Doctor lost eye contact and suddenly finding the ground much more appealing. This was exactly what he'd come to forget, not having the Master by his side or any of his companions. "Martha... just left. There was another girl, Astrid, who I thought might come with me but... she died." Died trying to save him, of all things. That hadn't hurt nearly as much as the Master's death though, going through that year planning what he'd do with the Master after the capture, all the things he could show his old friend and enemy, of being _friends_ again and finally being able to help with the drums that plagued him... Only to have the Master refuse to regenerate in his arms.

Right. Not helping. Before he could bounce back with a sufficiently cheery smile and a bit of babble though, the Master's hand was gently squeezing his arm in concern again. "Why don't we go out for dinner," the Master said tactfully, avoiding the true subject. "We could use the time to catch up and I know Ailla wants to meet you."

_I bet she does, if just to arrest me._ The Doctor was hard put not to say that out loud. Spoilers. "Can't," he said with a rueful expression. "No, really, I can't. As much as I would love to, this is-"

"Crossing our time streams?" the Master said with a chuckle, surprising the Doctor. Had he been that obvious? And he'd been trying so hard not to... "Come now, Doctor. You've never cared for such rules in the past."

Oh, the Doctor wanted this. He stared at the Master, at _Koschei_, yearning for just one night with the man. One night out of many that he had foolishly spent half way across the galaxy instead of trying to look up his old friend more than once every few centuries. But if he did...

"I'm dead in your time, aren't I?" the Master said curiously, watching the Doctor's reaction carefully. "And you don't want me to know."

"What, you dead?" the Doctor covered easily, burying the grief so deep that the Master would never find it. Turning to one of the few people still left mulling about in the theatre, he dragged the Master behind him with boundless energy. "Excuse me, but could you tell me if Koschei could die?"

The short man looked at him blankly, but the red haired woman he'd been speaking with turned to look at them, pushing her glasses up her nose thoughtfully. "Koschei? Like that old folk tale? Didn't he hide his soul in a needle, inside an egg, inside of a duck, inside a hare, all locked up in an iron chest? He couldn't die, unless you got the egg, but-"

"That's the one! Silly me, forgetting all of that," the Doctor said cheerfully. He turned back to the Master with a click of his tongue and a wink, leaving the two theatre goers bewildered at being ignored so quickly. He could hope against hope that this might change his Master's mind, to be reminded of that seeming immortality. It was futile to even dream of it, but some how the Doctor couldn't stop himself. "Isn't Russia brilliant? You couldn't go just anywhere and have that question answered! See? Who'd want to go through all that trouble just to kill you? Nah, you'll be around a longer yet, I reckon."

"Perhaps," the Master said with a small nod of his head, smiling in spite of himself at the Doctor's enthusiasm. "I take it there are other things you can't tell me then?"

The Doctor nodded regretfully, realizing that he hadn't yet let go of the Master's hand. He rubbed the back of it with his thumb thoughtfully, before squeezing the Master's hand for much needed comfort. "There's too much I want to tell you and I don't think I could stop myself for long. Just seeing you here..."

He closed his eyes to avoid the disappointment he could see in the Master's face. The Doctor could picture his expression as the Master sighed again without even needing to see it, knowing that the Master would be settling to make do.

"My dear Doctor, it's quite alright. I shall just have to wait until I meet up with you again in my proper time stream." The Master smiled charmingly, which the Doctor couldn't help but return even though he was already feeling the loss of the Master's hand once the other man had let go. "Au revoir, Doctor. I look forward to meeting you in that body..."

With that, the Master strode off, back into whatever miracle that had brought him here. "Adieu," the Doctor said quietly, standing there for a few moments just staring at the door the Master had left through. Shaking himself roughly, the Doctor pivoted and walked back to his TARDIS. He ignored the endless throng of people as he walked out of the threatre, not a single one of them the person he wanted to see again more than anything.

He only just closed the TARDIS door behind him before he broke down sobbing.

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~FINI~

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Memory: Hey there. Yup, just a short ficlet, but hopefully you've enjoyed it anyway. Please review and tell me what you thought. Maybe I'll post a few more of my b_e ficlets here if I get a good response.

Song/Quote of the Fic:

_From Russia with love, I fly to you  
Much wiser since my goodbye to you  
I've traveled the world to learn  
I must return from Russia with love_

_I've seen places, faces and smiled for a moment  
But oh, you haunted me so  
Still my tongue tied, young pride  
Would not let my love for you show  
In case you say no..._


End file.
